Isn't Love
by w8ing4huddy
Summary: Major POSSIBLE spoilers for the final episode of the season, so beware, beginning partway into the episode "Help Me" at the site of where the crane collapsed in Trenton, NJ - further disclosure in intro. - A one-shot


Disclaimer: House, M.D. is 100% David Shore's possession.

* * *

_(I don't want to say in any way that this is how the finale WILL go, especially since from what I've read and heard, the focus will really be more on House and the patient than House and Cuddy. BUT I AM basing this off a lot of the spoilers I've heard so it makes sense to warn you that if you aren't interested in encountering anything in a fic that has to do with the upcoming season finale or which carries with it a POTENTIAL for being somehow even remotely CLOSE to what actually happens in the ep, you SHOULDN'T read this. Further disclaimer: I really know absolutely nothing of the patient, so any back story hinted at is completely made up. Well, as is the story. And I'd warn you against thinking things will go down this way for I'm clueless as to what happens to the patient to free her, whether they do the amputation or something else happens as the unsound structure upon her collapses. AND at the end of the fic, I've shown one inaccuracy I've portrayed/overlooked as well - a spoiler from the global promo. Nevertheless, I still think it's possible I have a COUPLE factors right. And oh! This fic starts mid-episode, just FYI._

_I should ALSO say, if you read my fics regularly I should tell you this one DOES NOT have a happy ending for it leaves it completely open, as I'm no doubt the final episode will. If you don't like stories without happy endings, which… I've never written yet and which I never thought I WOULD write, don't read this. THIS, for me, is a collection of my postulations about what COULD happen in the final episode this season. It's my WORST CASE SCENARIO and yet, has moments of hope in it that I hadn't anticipated but nevertheless need for MY sanity. If you still decide to go ahead and read it, I hope it proves worth the read, that it prepares YOUR potentially fragile Huddy heart (which is what mine is right now) for whatever is about to be lopped at us, and that it yet offers you hope for the future. I personally hate what they've done to Cuddy this year and I have a bad feeling they'll vilify her further in the final episode, especially after watching the global promo, so in parts, I've done that here, but I nevertheless love her so hopefully they will redeem her eventually too. And this IS kind of a song fic but only because the song pierces my heart like this episode surely will.)_

* * *

**Within the Collapsed Structure of the Office Building**

"No, I…" she began almost pleadingly, her voice cracking, eyes spilling forth tears before her eyes shut; the fact that they were clenched and her breathing haggard the only signs telling House she hadn't passed out yet from the agony she was in up until they popped back open a moment later to reveal not the panic he'd witnessed a minute ago but strength she'd dug up from some deep well reserved within her for such a time as this. "No!" she asserted fiercely now, eyes ablaze, no longer begging him but flat out telling him how it was going to be. "I _will not_ lose my leg. _I WON'T!_ Chances are I'm going to die anyways, even if you did amputate. No. If you can't get me out of here, if you can't move this debris off of me, then leave me here to die. There are others who need your help. But I will _NOT _lose my leg. My legs are a huge part of me. I spend all my free time outdoors. My husband's a runner! I'm a runner! We run all the time together! We rock climb. We hike. We do things that require _two _legs. Without two legs, I won't be able to do what I love. So no! I _AM _my legs! And I would rather die than never do what is so much a part of me again. I'd rather die than be without one."

"I'm sorry but there really _isn't_ another choice," Cuddy spoke up to say.

"You're _not_ cutting off her leg," House countered, shooting her a stern glance.

He then turned his head to look at the woman before him, one leg impossibly pinned underneath the collapsed structure from just under her knee, her bones not just fractured but quite probably, shattered, and all he could think about was that he still spent every day wishing his leg had been left alone; that he'd _at least_ been listened to, his decision upheld, and that he'd had the _opportunity _to see if he couldn't _survive_ the aftermath of the infarction with his leg whole and intact. He had come to the point where he could _understand _what had motivated those involved, to violate his trust and his right to make decisions about his body, on his own. He was even of the belief that he'd forgiven those who had betrayed him, _for the most part anyway_. But that did not mean he was _grateful, _or that in the end it had been _worth what it had cost him_. For he was convinced it hadn't just cost him physically, but emotionally; not just his ability to run and be active like he'd always been, but later, his sanity; not just Stacy, but… Cuddy as well. And at this point, he honestly didn't believe it would ever _not _cost him. So he stared at this woman and he thought of himself. But he also thought of how determined he was to respect his patients' rights to make their own decisions, at least, when he didn't believe they were just being _idiots_. And for House, the woman before him was not an idiot. She wasn't even wrong. And on top of that, statistically speaking, there was a _great _possibility that amputating her leg to free her _would_ do little to spare her life. Even if they could stop the blood flow, an outright impossible task given the circumstances, or get blood to transfuse her with _immediately and onsite _so as to replenish whatever blood she lost in the procedure, reality was that they were in a collapsed structure, dust _everywhere_, coating _everyone _and _everything, _and infection was a foregone conclusion. That wasn't even taking into account how far he and Cuddy would be forced to carry her (which was _real promising, _of course,given the cripple card he'd been dealt), through tight squeezes on top of everything else, just to make it to an ambulance that could transport her to a proper facility. So frankly, House was more than willing to concede defeat here and accept her wishes without question, for if he was in her shoes, he'd prefer to take his chances and hold on to his leg as well, just hoping help would get here sooner rather than later.

House turned to establish eye contact with Hanna, opening his mouth to concur with her wishes, but he wasn't able to before Cuddy cut him off from behind him, gritting out, "_House_, may I have _a word_ with you?"

In truth, he'd almost forgotten she was even present after being lost in his thoughts a second ago, despite having just told her she wouldn't be taking this woman's leg. That's just how caught up he was in this particular patient and what she invoked in him. Now, as he glanced Cuddy's way, he wondered if it wouldn't have been better if he'd been the only one to _literally stumble_ upon this patient. Honestly, it wasn't like he _didn't_ know what Cuddy wanted to say, or at least, what he knew to expect from her, but all the same, in looking at her, while his better judgment went against it, he nevertheless nodded resignedly, though it didn't stop him from sarcastically sniping, "Yeah, why not? It's not like she's _going_ anywhere."

Cuddy was not impressed and her expression hardened all the more but when she turned away, taking a few careful steps slightly hunched over due to the space available to them to get just outside of hearing distance of the would-be patient, had she _wanted _them to do something for her, House followed, albeit reluctantly.

Cuddy turned on him faster than he'd thought possible in the small space they had available to them with trip risks everywhere and he met her fiery eyes knowing his own more likely revealed his acceptance of this woman's refusal of their help, all fight gone as he just gave in that death would be the outcome anyway unless a team was eventually able to enter and free her somehow. He looked upon Cuddy for a moment, this woman who he'd been unable to look straight at for months now because of how much it hurt him to do so, knowing she was with another man; this woman he loved but somehow hated, all at the same time, for choosing someone else to make her happy rather than giving him one last shot at it; this woman who he'd chosen to follow here (though he'd be the first to blame it on mild curiosity regarding the calamity which had befallen this office building rather than having anything to do with her presence here), to come alongside and aid, rather than risk something bad happening to her in the rubble of this tragedy when he was _away_ from her, something he'd then be incapable of doing anything about or have the possibility of saving her from; this woman he was fairly certain he'd go to the ends of the earth for; this woman he could not see living without and indeed, for whom he'd rather die for _now_ than ever outlive and be _forced_ to know a day without Lisa Cuddy in his life. He marveled at her, seeing past the dirt, grime, and sweat, past how absolutely disheveled her genuinely chaotic at the moment, breath-stealing beauty_ was _at present, to take in the signs of exhaustion displayed in her physical condition, the way she'd been ripped apart emotionally by all she'd seen and the open wounds _that_ had left behind in its wake (somehow still hanging in there, defying what would have destroyed or at least chased off, a lesser woman), and the toll it had taken upon her mentally as she ransacked her brain, trying to help as _many_ as she could, as _best_ she could. He refreshed _himself_ in drinking her in, quenching another type of thirst he felt than the one currently chafing his dry, dust-filled, scratchy throat. At least, until the world came crashing back down upon him, the reality of how much it sucked to be in love with someone who was apparently in love with someone _else_, washing over him, just as her mouth opened to speak.

"Don't put her life at risk to get back at me," she stated somberly.

"Cuddy," he interrupted, his voice leaving him sounding much calmer and collected than he _felt_ in this moment, deceitfully obscuring how thin the walls really were between his own emotional upheaval regarding her, his aspiration to be a better man and let her go if that made her happy, and his capacity to deal with this situation objectively, feeling more for a patient than he ever had since pre-infarction days. "This isn't about what happened back… then. She's made her decision. I won't disregard it on the chance that she _might _survive an amputation."

"I know you, House," Cuddy sneered, her statement hitting him as contemptuous rather than sympathetic, doing much the same as would an unanticipated forceful spray of cold water, knocking him off his feet and on his rear. "And I know what you are thinking about right now. But don't you _dare _use what happened to you in your infarction to rationalize condemning this woman to _death_. I was…" Cuddy struggled to clear her own irritated throat before charging on angrily, "Instead of being your _doctor_, I came at it _all wrong_. I knew you and so I triedto be your _friend. _And that was _my mistake."_

House was bewildered now, not understanding where this had come from. Yes, it didn't take a genius to make the connections between the two situations but _WHAT _was Cuddy _saying?_ And _WHERE _was she even _coming from?_

She pressed on and House dove mentally to grasp at the ends of the ever fraying rope his train was hanging by, trying to prevent a wreck of catastrophic proportions and reminding him of what he knew of the Alleghany Portage Railroad with its inclines and planes, quickly aiming to stay with her thoughts even as the rope bit at his hands, figuratively rubbing his palms raw as it tore through his flesh, dragging him along in its descent towards impending doom.

"I _should _have stuck to simply being your doctor and being objective enough to leave it up to you after making my arguments and accept that your wish was that I'd leave your leg the hell alone," she was saying, her next words like a slap in the face. "I _should _have let you die. God knows if I had, I would have spared myself _years _of hell, trying to assuage my guilt; _years _of taking your crap, having you make my life miserable, and of lying to myself, convincing myself that I kept you around because you were worth it instead of just admitting I _felt sorry _for you and _bad_ for what had happened because of what I'd went along with Stacy in doing. _Ugh_, when I think of what you've cost me…"

_(What,_ House thought to himself, thoroughly bewildered in her passionate diatribe _against _him now.)

Skewering him through the chest her stormy words continued, "Well, I am _grateful _that Lucas is one of the few good things you _did_ have something to do with in bringing him into my life, despite how you destroyed any gratitude I might have directed your way in initially working to sabotage the relationship for me. Do you hear me?"

(Great, he internally sighed. Bring _that_ up. But she wasn't done.)

"It's like with _Wilson_."

(Cuddy, please don't go there too, he allowed his eyes to plead, _which_ she was oblivious to.)

"You can't _stand _the thought of him being with someone because it further emphasizes just how _alone_ you really are, so instead you'd rather make his life equally miserable, dragging him down with you, because at least then you don't have to worry something better will come along and he'll leave you to grab it. He would have been far better off than he is right now had he succeeded in walking away from you after what happened to Amber."

(Amber. Another millstone about his neck.)

"_I don't love you. I'm done. _And I am _so glad _that I came to the point of realizing that what I thought I felt for you was only an illusion. If I hadn't, I hate to think of how it would have destroyed everything I've _finally _got _right _in my life right now… if I'd said no instead of yes last night when Lucas proposed…"

(She was marrying him. She… She was _marrying_ him. Then… it was… But… what she _thought _she'd felt for him? Only an illusion? She'd never… Her life was _finally right? _And his was… over. Only worse than over, because apparently, he'd believed the same illusion she had in thinking it even remotely possible for her to… have _feelings _for _him._ Why had he even bothered to waste the last year in _therapy _with Nolan, when he could have been looking for another method of coping? When he could have… just walked away completely from everything and everyone who had since then determined to walk away from _him?_)

Cuddy hadn't meant to have anyone find out about her engagement just yet and her words dropped off as she froze, _furious_ with herself for telling _House _of all people. Striving to get back on track, hoping he'd already tuned her out, she shook her head as if to shake off an irksome fly and charged back in the maelstrom, her tone shrill and louder in an attempt to reel him back in if he'd already checked out so that he'd hear what she had to say next and _get_ her main point. "But you _aren't _this woman, House. Hanna's got more to live for than you _ever_ _had_. So _forget_ about what happened _to you_ and concentrate on what's _really_ in _this _woman's best interests. I seriously _doubt _its remaining pinned as she is, slowly dying, when all it would take to save her is amputating that leg to free her enough to get her the medical attention that is waiting right outside this hellhole. For _once, _realize that your job isn't _just _to accept a patient's desire to take the easy way out but to present _all _the options and give them reason to believe they have something to live _for."_

"_**Well it hurts so much  
May I scream out loud  
Oh my, God forbid you could have left me out  
Of your wicked intentions, hateful fools to see  
And I wish you had not been born  
Why'd we have to meet?  
And I hope this isn't love"**_

The blood was rushing in his head, pulsing through his veins like a wildfire burning out of control yet loud like the crashing waves of a terrible tempest, ever increasing in decibel as the storm drew ever closer, and _still_ it wasn't _enough_ to block out the scathing invectives pouring forth from Cuddy's formerly beguiling mouth. The thought seared through him that this might be what it felt like to be on the receiving end of his past tendency towards verbal abuse and if so he could only mourn who he'd allowed himself to be back then, before the thought was replaced by the conviction that it _wasn't_ possible for this to be so, or at least, if it was, no one had ever cared about him or his opinion enough to have his bitter spewing of wrath destroy them the way Cuddy's utterances were annihilating his defenses at his weakest fault lines and tearing him down to a simple conglomeration of atoms right now. He had long since dropped his gaze, unable to make eye contact with her and read the brutal truth behind her words as revealed in her grayish blue orbs, his shoulders sagging in defeat as well while he found that even if he had wanted to, he could not retreat and make his escape, for her words had paralyzed him. He could not look upon her. So instead he conceded defeat.

"Alright," he managed to mumble before she could go on, forcing the two syllable word past the knot of whatever it was constricting his airway at the moment and turning before Cuddy could demand clarification of just what he was saying "alright" to.

She'd expected a fight and she'd been prepared for one, had even purposed to strike as many blows as she could before he could land one on her out of fear that she wouldn't be able to continue if he hit her hard enough, but the fact that she hadn't gotten one sucked the air from her lungs, leaving her deflated and gasping as she grappled to piece together what had just happened and how she'd so easily been given the victory, still trying to comprehend what the victory _was_. Struck mute now by House's uncharacteristic behavior, his absolute endurance and, most surprising of all, complete _submission_ to the cat o' nine tails she'd lashed him with, Cuddy was helpless to do anything _but _follow him stooped down, back to the trapped victim of this calamity whose life she'd just fought House with everything she had in her arsenal to save.

Cuddy hadn't even made it all the way back before he started speaking, his attention 100% focused in on the woman on death's door stretched out awkwardly before him, her body shaking with her immense pain.

His voice was soft and more compassionate than Cuddy had ever heard it, that alone enough to bewilder her, let alone the fact he not only _knew _her name but _used it, _causing her to hinge her next breath on whatever he'd say next. "Hanna, I know you want to believe that a team will find a way through to get to you in time. But there's no promise of that happening. If you could go out there, you would see just how much there is for emergency workers to do and all those still waiting for help." He sighed quietly before bowing his head slightly. "I also know how much a leg means," he continued, his voice practically a whisper, "and what it is to lose the function it serves you for; all it enables you to do. I… I had an infarction a number of years ago. It's… like a heart attack but for me it was in my thigh. Doctors didn't catch it in time. Muscle died. And along with it came excruciating pain. The doctor and surgeons wanted to amputate. But I, like you, didn't want to lose it. I was a lacrosse player in my youth. A good one. And _always,_ a runner. For me as well, those were big parts of my life. Who was I _without _my leg? So instead I instructed them to clear the blockage, determined to survive the excruciating pain and the possible heart attacks it could lead to as my system was thrown by the dead matter removing the blockage would toss into my bloodstream. When I thought I couldn't take anymore, I asked to be put in a coma until the worst of my agony had passed. My medical proxy then violated my wishes and had the surgeons remove the muscle, hoping to save my life and the majority of my leg. I still have the leg. But it will never be what it was and even now I spend every day battling an addiction and the urge to take something stronger for it so that I wouldn't be just pushing forward through the pain but _pain-free_. If I'd amputated as the doctors had wanted me to, I'd be without the leg, yes, but I'd… also be without the pain."

House paused, trying to hold it together, and then flicked his eyes up to meet those of the woman before him. Reaching hesitantly for her hand, he held it loosely before saying, "I won't violate whatever decision you reach, Hanna. I _can't._ But I want you to know this; amputating a portion of your leg to get you out of here could quite possibly be your best, maybe even your _only_ chance at surviving this. And you've got to decide for yourself whether your life is more precious to you than half a leg. Because you _can _go on from this if you live. As technology advances, work with prosthetics becomes increasingly effective and adept at overcoming what obstacles seem to lay in the way of _'normal' _activities. No, you'll probably never run again. And life will not be the same. But hiking… That's still within your grasp. However, if we wait too long, you might die before being rescued. Any number of things could happen right now, both externally and within your own body. And even if we could get the debris off your leg to free it, I can't promise you we'd find it in a condition which allowed us to save it. So you've got to decide what life means to you, what it requires in order for you to enjoy life in whatever measure of fullness you can, and yeah, whether you can deal with some limitations and whether those who love you, love you _enough _to help you through the hard times and the adjustments that will have to be made. Those are decisions _I can't _make for you. You, like I was, are in a situation that _sucks_. You've got to decide though what possibility sucks _less._"

Hanna clasped tighter to House's hand, staring at him after his words faded away as if she was searching the depths of his soul to make sure he'd been honest with her. Finally she swallowed hard and then nodded, murmuring a disheartened, "Cut it off," before keening at what her decision would cost her.

Cuddy had long since given in to her tears, allowing them to stream freely down her face at everything leaving House's lips. His words washed over her, sometimes hitting her at the heart of all her regrets and other times applying themselves to wounds she'd suffered over the years like a soothing balm. And it was in listening to him and the tender way he approached this woman he'd only just met and didn't know from Adam, that she realized, _truly realized,_ he wasn't the same angry, bitter man she'd known only a year ago and perhaps had _never _been who she'd come to believe he was. She tried to grasp all the implications of that discovery yet found she couldn't, for she wasn't sure where to start. So instead she stared at him, tears dripping off her cheeks, but it was as if she wasn't even there, House thoroughly ignoring her, the only indication that he knew she was still present coming when he reached out with his other hand to grasp the woman's shoulder in as much of a show of support as he could draw up in himself to extend, gruffly reassuring, "I'll stay with you while Dr. Cuddy goes to get everything we will need to get you free."

She crawled away then, glancing back behind her for one last look at House as he continued talking in subdued tones to the distraught woman, one hand holding hers, the other upon her shoulder.

* * *

The last forty-five minutes had been a nightmare but they'd finally managed to perform the amputation, freeing the patient but not without the unsound structure on top of her collapsing partway, slamming into House's shoulder while Hanna was carefully removed from underneath and placed on a stretcher by recruits Cuddy had dredged up in leaving for supplies, carried out to a waiting ambulance that had instructions to rush her to PPTH, as the hospitals in Trenton had no further capacity to deal with the extent of her situation presently, the medics fully informed of every detail. Cuddy turned, wiping grime from her brow, to spot House limping out of the building, a hand on his bandaged neck, his eyes lighting on hers for the briefest second before he turned his head and limped away in the direction of his motorcycle.

There was _so much _she had to say to him, _so much _she regretted having been angry and hardened enough to throw in his face and inflict him with, yet when she chased after him, stumbling as she slowed down before coming to a stop altogether, the only words she could force out were, "You did the right thing."

House froze at her words but did not immediately turn around. Instead he stared at the debris-littered ground before him as he _wrestled _with the demons that had finally been released from their confinement now that the patient and her fate was out of his hands, to bury their teeth in his flesh. He swallowed hard several times, his eyes pressing tightly closed, before he managed to find some semblance of a capacity for speech. He slowly revolved then to face her, knowing he wouldn't be able to come up with the volume necessary for her to hear him _unless _he faced her head on.

"I _hope _I did the right thing," he said then. "I _hope_ she lives and I can look back at this with some semblance of self-respect in place because her life was spared. I _hope_ I'm proven wrong and I never have to question whether I did the wrong thing for the wrong reason and whether she'd have been better off left where she was until something could be done to free her leg, allowing her to not just keep it but keep her life as well."

"House," she murmured, unable to see his face in the shadows and wishing she could but motivated to encourage him somehow, now that it was over.

Regardless, he shook his head and her words dropped off and were then lost to her completely when the lights of another ambulance ready to depart with a victim flashed nearby, illuminating his face enough so that she caught a glimpse of his haggard expression and the desolation in his eyes, but worst of all, the dark streak of ever increasingly dingy liquid cascading solemnly down from one eye, disappearing into his equally dirt-scoured scruff, something that pierced her even as his next statements made her sway where she stood.

"I don't know who you are anymore," he quietly mumbled, shaking his head sadly. "I don't know who you are and… I don't even want to know. If you're trying to tell me this is who you've always been, then I don't want to know you at all. So you aren't the only one who's done because I'm done too. _It's_ done. I wish you the best of luck with… your marriage but… I don't ever want to see you again."

"_**So carry on with your cutting people down  
He may fall in love as he falls to the ground  
And you never seem to care what we feel inside  
As long as no one gets near the safes that you hide  
And I hope this isn't love  
And I hope this isn't love"**_

Cuddy watched House walk away then, numb and stunned. It was as if her life flashed before her eyes, highlighting only the moments she'd shared with him, both the wonderful and the terrible, to the soundtrack of what she'd gone so far as to say to him today. And the truth was, in that moment, she didn't want to know herself either if this was truly who she was now.

* * *

Rather than drive home to Lucas and Rachel as she'd been longing to throughout the events of the day and the horrors she'd seen up close, Cuddy turned her car in the direction of the hospital, wanting to wash away the vestiges that yet clung to her rather than take them home, marring her flesh. Wearily she made her way within, ignoring the hustle and bustle about her as people strove to take care of all the patients who had been diverted their way in the aftermath of the collapsed crane, plodding into her private office before closing the door and leaning back against it. Tears came then but she hurriedly wiped them away, determined to get her shower in before going home.

As she grabbed a spare outfit from her closet, her eyes fell upon the book House had given, to her _and _Lucas, just this morning, what seemed like forever ago, and she bit her lip hard in an effort to not fall apart completely right here and now. She… No, she hadn't even thanked him for the gift. She'd barely reacted at all. And yet there was no doubt in her mind that he'd gone to considerable efforts to get his hands on that book, for she herself upon hearing of its existence, had tried to find it and failed many a time. She wondered how long he'd had it, for somehow she did not doubt it had been awhile, and what he'd held onto it for; what he'd _originally_ intended to give it to her for before deciding to pass it on now.

Emotion clogging her throat, she nevertheless about-faced and headed for the locker room, intent on getting her shower. She was not surprised to find it deserted, being that the hospital was swamped with patients, but she was still relieved, for she could not look at anyone right now, nor did she want to answer any questions. Adjusting the water temperature she waited until it was warm before disrobing, her jumpsuit far easier to remove than her scrubs proved to be, moist and clinging to her in places, dried to her like another layer of skin and sticking firmly in others. Pulling the hair band from her hair, only then did she let herself fall apart the way she'd wanted to for some time now, the extra hot water searing her flesh, her one hope that it would wash away more than just the sweat and dirt this day had bathed her in.

* * *

House unlocked the door to his apartment, for the first time _grateful _to have been kicked out by Wilson. If he'd had to go to the loft, it would have been hours before he could drag himself back there, following all Cuddy had said and the message she'd reinforced. Instead he was able to immediately go home, entering his place battle-worn and scarred. He limped slowly down the hallway, his leg pain beyond bearable, it having steadily increased in the time since he'd left the disaster site. He'd been afraid that he'd spin out on the motorcycle, unable to cope a second longer with how bad his leg was becoming, the roads also now damp from the rain. But somehow he'd made it home and for that he could only be thankful. He'd loved that bike. He'd have hated to betray all she'd done for him in recent years by putting a scratch on her now.

Entering the bathroom he reached down into the bathtub to turn on the water. But his hand froze only to be retracted as he realized that perhaps his work at PPTH was not yet through and he had one more task to complete before he could walk away forever. Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, he dialed the overly familiar number and waited, not surprised when it took a while for someone to pick up.

"Yeah, Doctor House here," he gruffly said into the phone, interrupting their opening spiel. "I'm calling about a patient that would have come in approximately an hour ago from the Trenton disaster. We had to amputate her leg to free her and I wanted to know… I wanted to know how she's doing."

He gave her the patient's name, not certain it would even be in the system yet, and was then placed on hold while the nurse who had answered called down to the ER in an attempt at tracking her down. Minutes later she came back on the line only to say, "Yeah, she didn't make it, Dr. House. She died on the way in. They weren't able to do anything more for her."

Time crawled by, though perhaps it took only a minute before House finally hung up without reply, wondering when death had become such a part of their everyday existence that nurses and doctors stopped saying "I'm sorry" to each other in relating bad news about a patient. Or perhaps the nurse just knew _him _and figured he'd be indifferent to the news, he supposed. Usually he did give off that vibe, with the exception of not liking having failed.

He didn't think about it long though, as in the next second he'd thrown his cell across the room, shattering the bathroom mirror, before punching his fist angrily through the drywall in a sudden burst of volatile anger. He'd given up and given in, giving Cuddy the last thing he had in him to give her, only to have his patient die because he'd been too bruised and battered himself to fight for her and for her right to keep her leg and risk dying in order to hang on to the hope that someone would eventually be able to free her _without _amputating. It was his fault she was dead then. He'd only given her a death sentence in talking her into the amputation.

House stared at his hand after freeing it from the wall, bitterly chuckling at the irony in the cut with dried blood encrusted about it right in the center of the dorsum of his hand, which he had somehow received while at the site of the collapsed office building. It was just so reminiscent of the past, bringing with it the memory of how Wilson had told him he hadn't been bit by a mosquito at all but that the mark on the back of his hand last year and his continuous scratching was symbolic to how much he wanted Cuddy and yet found her unattainable, trying instead to _scratch his itch_ through whatever means he was able. He vaguely questioned what Wilson would have to say about this. Maybe he _hadn't_ received it at the site but had instead reverted to old habits, his flesh ripping apart as his feelings for _her_ putrefied and festered. Next thing you know he'd be the first atheist to claim having a stigmata. Well okay, not exactly. This wound after all had nothing to do with religion and he'd never claim it did. Though Wilson might, should a religion centering round Cuddy take shape.

Looking up, his concentration caught on the hole his fist had made in the wall. He inspected it with wry disgust only to be startled a second later when he shouldn't have been, for in the hole he'd left behind he found he'd revealed a hidden stash of Vicodin long since forgotten about, yet apparently, subconsciously remembered, for it made sense now that he'd chosen this exact spot to punch through for a reason, the edges around the hole that yet stayed intact standing out ever so slightly from the wall a couple inches around it, in any direction, no doubt to help him find it once more. Raising his other hand he slowly reached in, removing the bottle, the welcome sound of a full refill causing his heart to race at the prospect of escape. Praise be to the obsessive-compulsive, squirreling away tendencies of an addict.

It took a few tries but he finally managed to pop the lid, pushing aside everything that wanted to tell him that he was making a mistake until it was a hushed whine in his ear, like that pesky mosquito of the past. He shook the bottle slightly, dropping two pills into the palm of his cut hand and then he closed his fist around them momentarily, allowing himself just enough time to feel the extent of his pain so that sweet release would taste all the better.

* * *

Cuddy was on her way out of the hospital, intent on ending her misery and escaping this day, when she came to a sudden stop, her eyes shutting at the reality that she wouldn't be able to leave _without _checking on the patient, for, she needed to see House and… to apologize and… it would be that much easier to do if she were able to reinforce that the patient was doing well and would survive, thanks to him.

Turning back, she reluctantly made her way to the desk, shaking out her damp hair while waiting for the nurse to get off the phone. When she did, Cuddy caught her eye and raising her chin slightly said, "I'd like an update on a patient who was brought in from the collapsed crane site. She'd be in her thirties, dark hair, had her leg amputated at the site. Her first name was Hanna. I didn't catch her last."

"Oh, Dr. House's patient," the nurse interrupted, cutting off Cuddy's depiction of the patient she wanted information on. "I'm sorry, Dr. Cuddy, but Hanna passed away en route."

"Are you sure?" Cuddy breathlessly queried after a moment of stunned silence and despite knowing the chances of her being mistaken were slim, her only hope coming in the fact that Hanna wouldn't be identified as House's patient, for she hadn't technically been assigned to House since her arrival, nor would she be, since he was not on hospital premises. "Are you sure it's the same patient?"

"Dr. House just called me a few minutes ago," the nurse acknowledged sympathetically, seeing the pain reflected in the Dean of Medicine's eyes. "I'm really sorry."

Cuddy nodded, her eyes dropping to the floor before her head twisted away, unable to vocalize a response. Taking a few steps she then turned and headed for the door, her shoulders concave, her expression lost.

* * *

Cuddy had intended to go home, thinking she couldn't _bear _to go to House now that she knew Hanna had died, and yet, when she looked up next, she did not find herself in front of her home but parked near the loft she and Lucas had intended to buy which Wilson and House had stolen out from under them. She glanced up to find the apartment windows lit and could not help but follow their beckoning call as she stumbled out of her car, not bothering to lock it behind her, running across the street before slowing to walk towards the elevator that would take her upstairs, suddenly convicted that she couldn't afford to put this off any longer.

Five minutes later the door opened to reveal a startled Wilson, clearly surprised at her appearance, his bewilderment transforming into concern when she immediately started crying upon seeing him.

"I need to see House. Please? May I come in?" she tremulously pleaded, too afraid that House had already informed Wilson of all she'd said to him to keep herself together and _not _expose how palpable her suffering was, should he evict her right now for all she'd expressed.

Wilson stuttered for a moment before managing to confusedly mumble, "Cuddy, he's not here. You _knew _I kicked him out. You knew he was back in his apartment."

Cuddy swayed slightly as his words hit her like a wall of bricks, her attempt to comprehend the significance of his words faltering repeatedly until its message sank in. "But I thought by now you'd have convinced him to move back in with you," she gasped out. Her mind was suddenly plagued with swirling fears and second-guessing questions as she tried to tell herself she'd _never_ have been so cruel as to say all she had if she had known he would be and _was_ completely alone now. _Would she?_

Her lips formed words but it took her a long pause to successfully whisper, "But then, he's alone," not knowing if he'd understand what she meant by that. She'd… abandoned him. Wilson had abandoned him…

Her expression of absolute panic, eyes widening by the second, sent shivers up Wilson's spine even as her voice grew louder, though not stronger, as she grappled with her thoughts to say, "He's alone with no one to give him any kind of support and I… I was _so mean _to him. I said things I _never should have _and he's _alone_."

Wilson looked at her, his forehead wrinkling all the more, before he rubbed a hand over his face and reassured her, "Calm down, Cuddy. I'm sure he's fine. And if you feel that bad about what you said to him, you can apologize to him later. What could you really say to him that would get through his thick skin anyway? You're blunt sometimes, Cuddy, but not mean. He's probably at home right now, plying his sorrows with booze. I'm sure you'll find him there, though you might want to just wait it out and track him down tomorrow."

She choked back a sob but then confessed, "I am not that nice, Wilson. You underestimate what I am capable of. I… _was BEYOND mean _today_. _And he doesn't want an apology so how can I even hope to get him to listen to one? He… he told me he never wants to see me again."

Wilson rolled his eyes, reaching out to rest a hand on her shoulder. "Cuddy, don't take this the wrong way but… I think you're overreacting here. If House said that, he didn't mean that. He'd never mean that. Despite whatever you dismiss his feelings as, he… he cares about you. _A lot. _He was probably just lashing out at you for whatever you said to him."

Cuddy took a step back, his hand falling from her as her head swung slowly from side to side, horrified and trying to formulate what she was supposed to do now. Her hand came up to wipe at the tears ceaselessly running down her cheeks. Helpless not to, she whimpered, "He followed me to the site where that crane collapsed on that office building in Trenton today. We… we came across a woman who was trapped under the wreckage. I… I thought her only hope was if we amputated part of her leg to free her, but of course House didn't want to, especially when she said she'd rather die than be without it. I… I pulled him aside and then I…" Cuddy's eyes flickered shut in pain before she moaned, biting her lip before continuing, "_Oh God_, I said _all kinds_ of horrible things to him. I basically came right out and said that I should have let him die back when the infarction happened rather than align myself with Stacy and spare him. I… went off on how much trouble and pain it would have spared _me _had I done so. I said he'd made my life terrible," she admitted with a sob. "I blamed keeping him around on assuaging my guilt and not realizing what the difference was between feeling sorry about what I did and feeling sorry _for _him. He hates pity and I… I made it the sole basis for why I'd had any kind of relationship with him at all over the years. Then I proceeded to rub Lucas in his face, telling House that Lucas is the only good thing he's ever brought to my life. I told him I'd accepted a marriage proposal in the _worst way _in which I could have. In the end, I told House he couldn't compare his life to the patient's because… because she had more to live for even without her leg than he'd ever had."

Wilson had slowly taken a few steps back from her, unconsciously distancing himself from her in his absolute disbelief and revulsion that she had it in her to be _THAT malicious _towards House. He recognized the possibility of House saying something dreadful to her today existed, but something bad enough to provoke _this?_

Knowing the likelihood existed for Wilson to never forgive her for this, she yet murmured brokenly, "I told him that… that he was selfish where you were concerned too. I implied he made you miserable and that his dislike for Sam stemmed from his desire to keep you miserable with him rather than to have you choose happiness with her, moving on with your life. I… brought up _Amber, Wilson. _I basically implied that…"

But Wilson couldn't listen to any more of this. His face contorting in anger, he yelled, "_You had no RIGHT to speak for ME, Cuddy. You want to tell him how unimportant he is to you and spew your venom freely, FINE, but you had no BUSINESS trying to guess at what I FEEL regarding my friendship with him. It's like I don't even KNOW you anymore_," he shot her way, gesturing wildly, not knowing how close his words came to echoing House's. Shaking his head in abject frustration, he quieted just to irately mumble, "What in the _hell_ have you gone and done, Cuddy?"

Reaching for his phone, he turned his back on her and dialed House's phone number, each subsequent ring making his grip on the receiver tighten increasingly. The answering machine ultimately clicked on and all compassion was obscured by his anger at Cuddy and worry for his friend. It didn't help matters that he still felt awful for asking House to leave, using Sam and not wanting to screw up with her as his card. "_House, where are you? Pick up the damn phone. Pick it up right now. House!_"

"What's going on?" Sam asked, coming in the room having just readied for an evening out, her current expression one of pure confusion at the change between how he'd been when she'd left him to get ready and his current behavior.

Wilson ignored her, clutching the phone, pacing back and forth. "Pick up, House. I'm _serious._"

Sam's eyes widened at both his tone and his demeanor before she sank down on the arm of the sofa. "What did he do now?" she asked wryly, clearly convinced that House had done something _again _to put Wilson in a bad humor.

Wilson shot a hard look her way, then sighed dramatically before hanging the phone up to shoot a dirty glare at Cuddy, biting out, "_Great_, he won't even answer the phone. I _hope _you're happy," before he'd even turned around. But when his eyes met the space she had occupied moments ago, he found her gone, the door wide open.

Sam looked at the doorway too, puzzled. "Wilson, what is going on?" she inquired then, crossing her arms over her chest as she frowned at him.

He just huffed out a breath and turned away, walking to the closet and grabbing his coat.

"Where are you going?" she queried, her shock coming across in her tone.

"I've got to go to House," he mumbled gruffly.

"But we have dinner plans," she replied, offended now.

"Screw the dinner plans," he muttered, heading out the door and slamming it closed behind him.

* * *

He'd really intended to only take the first two pills. But as the pain in his leg receded to a throb and the roaring anguish in his head and heart dulled, he was helpless to deny it felt _good _to stop feeling _anything; _to toss aside all the crap he'd swallowed from Nolan and all the emotions he'd permitted himself to allow to the surface in order to stop _caring_ so damn much about _everything._ House swallowed one pill after another, though not in immediate succession, preferring to space them out and gradually induce more and more oblivion to his system, spurring on the dissolution of his suffering as he began to feel high and remarkably invincible as each minute ticked away and each bitter pill slipped down his esophagus. It wasn't that he didn't know what taking too many pills would do to him, nor how strong his body would react to Vicodin after such a long separation from the drug; it was just that he no longer cared enough to… care. He… he was now feeling better than ever before and certainly the best he'd felt since leaving Mayfield, when he'd been stupidly hopeful regarding the future, a future he'd hoped at the time to share with Cuddy. For once he felt in control and not spiraling out of it; as if he oddly, had just been given his sanity back in popping that Vicodin, what everyone else had wanted to hang on the cross and condemned as his problem. No, he was in no pain now. No pain of _ANY _sort. And it felt _GREAT. _It was like a dream, only it was the best dream he'd ever had, for nothing could hurt him in his haze, nothing and no one. This was emphasized in the next moment in how crashing to the floor made no impact on him at all, instead making him laugh while his pill bottle rolled away, the remaining pills spilling out across the floor, mixing with the shards of broken glass.

"_**Last night I had the sweetest dream  
That you were nowhere near me  
That you could not cut me  
That you do not affect me  
That I had my sanity  
That was just a dream  
That was just a dream"**_

* * *

Scenery passed Cuddy in a blur as she drove to House's apartment building, hoping police would be too preoccupied with what had happened in Trenton to care about one lone person speeding well above the posted speed limit in Princeton. She'd turned and run down the stairs, too impatient to stand still in an elevator waiting for its doors to open, until she was able to exit Wilson's complex, having walked away from him before racing to her car as Wilson had reached for his phone, too fearful to waste another minute when she _knew _House would never answer if he hadn't just gone there in the first place to seek Wilson's consolation. Now she pulled up in front of House's apartment, barely jerking the car to a stop before she shoved it into park and tore the keys from the ignition. Wilson had suggested House was more than likely drowning his sorrows in whiskey, but that was before he knew the whole story and honestly, more than she could even hope for. Finding herself before his door, she banged her flat hand against it, jumpy with nerves, and cried out, "House, I know you don't ever want to see me again but _please _let me in and hear me out. _PLEASE!"_

She slammed her hand repeatedly into the door until she realized the neighbor across the hall had fastened her chain to open the door but only enough to eye her through the crack. Ignoring her completely, she fumbled for the hidden key, praying it was still there. Coming up empty she collapsed against the door, her hand sliding to the door knob unconsciously before she realized where it was and bit her lip, only then trying to turn it.

Amazingly, the door knob turned in her hand, the door opening slowly with the pressure she'd exerted in revolving it alone, and it was at that point that Cuddy paused, now face to face with confronting her own fears and whatever would lie behind this door. Steeling herself, she choked back another sob and pushed the door wide open, stepping within, aware that she was violating his sacred space but not about to begin respecting it now.

She glanced back to find the neighbor across the hall had closed the door, whether because she didn't want to interfere or because she intended to call the police, Cuddy didn't know. Brushing away the cobweb of thought, Cuddy gently pushed the door behind her, leaving it an inch from being shut altogether, and step by hesitant step, made her way farther into House's apartment, calling his name softly along the way.

She stepped on something outside of his bathroom door and froze at the crunch it made, moving her foot to see what it was. The shard of glass had broken beneath the pressure of her heel. However it wasn't that shard but the _number_ of shards surrounding her feet that sent her already racing heart into overdrive, extremely apprehensive of what he'd gone and done. Instantly on alert, she forgot all about the hesitancy and fear that had made her edge into the apartment cautiously and she raced into the bathroom, using the walls to stop her motion and keep her from falling upon him as her heart plummeted at the sight before her. Disregarding the glass, she threw herself down beside him, landing on her knees and shins, unknowingly slicing them in spots as the glass pierced her flesh while she reached to find a pulse. It was there but weak and she inventoried the room automatically, the part of her that still operated as a doctor coming quickly into play, and her breath hitched at the sight of the pill bottle lying just out of his reach. She didn't have to pick it up to know what it was. She just knew. Pushing aside the questions that sprung to mind as she tried to puzzle out how he'd gotten his hands on it, she accepted that there were any number of ways in which he could have and grabbed for it, counting out the number of pills still within before numbering the ones out on the floor, subtracting the totals from the quantity of pills the prescription had originally been for. The date was long past, telling her this was part of his supply from _before Mayfield _and that he'd apparently held onto it even while doing his best to stay clean_, _yet she didn't choose to think about that either as the number of pills still missing echoed around in her brain. She seriously hoped he hadn't taken that many and that some had already been missing, but the condition he was in told her he'd taken more than a couple. Way more.

Ignoring the broken mirror and the smashed cell phone lying upside down in the corner from ricocheting about the room, Cuddy reached for him, wincing slightly as glass burrowed deeper into her flesh as she crept forward on the floor to rest his head in her lap as she lowered her face to his, feeling his breath feather out shallowly upon her cheek. She sobbed then, only feeling a smidgeon of relief at that proof that all hope was not yet lost in the overall state of things, knowing she'd played a part in this coming about. The only thing weird for her about his appearance was the _lack _of puke on the floor, though she was almost grateful he hadn't, if it meant he might have aspirated on it in his unconscious state and died without anyone present to help him.

And that triggered her thinking, for she needed help. She needed emergency help. But she couldn't bring herself to leave him either, too afraid he'd slip away and be lost to her forever while she was off in the other room making a phone call. In that moment she damned herself for leaving her purse and cell phone behind in the car in her haste to get inside.

"_House! House! Where are you?!"_ Wilson's voice came echoing to her, and she sighed in bitter relief before calling back brokenly, "Wilson, you have to call 911! We're in the bathroom! He's overdosed on Vicodin! _Please_ tell them to _hurry!_"

And passing all responsibility on to Wilson, Cuddy fell against House, cradling him as her grief and regret crashed down upon her full-force.

Wilson ran for the bathroom, his cell phone already in hand as he tried to dial 911 while racing for them. He froze in the doorway, staring at them in wide-eyed fear, only jolted from his condition when the voice in his ear asked for the nature of his emergency. Quickly filling the emergency operator in on the situation as best as he could grasp it, not getting any more answers from Cuddy as she was lost to all but House in this moment, he relayed everything he could, along with the address, before hanging the phone up, not bothering to stay on the line as he was a doctor and the woman on the other end would be relatively useless to him except in passing on the information and rushing an ambulance to the scene.

House was most definitely unconscious where he lay half in Cuddy's arms. Wilson noted the mirror, the hole in the wall, the cell phone, the line of pills, and the upright orange prescription bottle not far from Cuddy. But he took that all in, in a matter of seconds, his attention then riveting instead to House and Cuddy, rendered immobile by the words leaving her mouth as she alternated between sobbing and choking on said sobs while she murmured brokenly, "I didn't mean it, House. I _didn't_ mean it. I was just angry and… And I'm just _so scared._ _I'm so scared House_. Truth is that I love you. Do you hear me? I love _you! _But I was so scared that you'd find out Lucas had proposed and then make one last ditch effort to win me, because… because I knew I wouldn't be able to say no to you again. I knew if you told me you still had feelings for me, I'd be helpless to admit that I _more than have feelings for you_. And it terrified me, House. It terrified me. Because if we try for a relationship and it doesn't work out, I… I don't think I could _bear_ losing you. And I can't help but think I would, once and for all. I thought I'd lost you to Mayfield. I thought I'd lost you a number of times before that. But if we tried and… it just _didn't work, _the both of us being such _complete screw-ups_, well I… I couldn't survive you walking away. And I think you would walk away. But now look what I've _done!_ I've _pushed you_ away and I… What have I _done_ to you, House? What have _you_ done? And what have we done to _each other?_ House, _please_ don't die on me. _Please fight this_. _Please hang on until help arrives._ I can't… I can't _lose_ you. I love you too much to survive losing you. Please House," she begged. And Wilson watched in absolute bemusement as Cuddy bathed House's face with her tears, pressing random kisses to various spots on his face as she stroked his forehead, her other hand supporting his neck, her forefinger and middle finger to his carotid artery, monitoring his pulse in case she needed to get him into a recovery position, should he require CPR or start to choke.

* * *

"_**So go away  
Why can't you leave me be?  
Because I love your face and your need for me  
So back to your rainy city for it suits you so well  
If you ever ever care that you never can tell me  
That you never can tell me"**_

House lay there upon his bathroom floor as the flashing lights of an ambulance pulling up reflected off the walls of his living room, the siren dull but present in the distance. He lay there, unconscious and depressed now, for he'd thought he'd _finally_ found his sanity and yet here he was, hallucinating once more that Cuddy was near, crying and saying things he'd only recently discovered he could trust she'd never say to him, for they could never have been true. And that was the sting of it. He'd escaped what plagued him only to be taunted in his final moments, his victory in his getaway somehow diminished, leaving him feeling robbed of all comfort as he resigned himself to having things end as such. He vaguely wondered what he'd find in the seconds to come, whether it would be a bright light, the God he didn't believe in, the existence of hell, or just an ease into an eternal state of being in the void life left in its absence. The one thing he was grateful for was that it _wouldn't_ be something ever requiring him to second-guess whether what was going on was real or a hallucination. With that final thought, he conceded to end the war, giving up the battle he'd been waging in telling himself he could yet make something good of his life, his heart beating one last staccato note before it ceased.

_**"And I hope this isn't love  
Isn't love"**_

* * *

Song: "Isn't Love" (Joe Purdy)

_(A Final Note WITH A Spoiler: I know for a fact that I am wrong in that for the global promo, it shows House riding with the patient to the hospital in the ambulance and then reveals a confrontation between Foreman and House at the hospital where Foreman tries to console him in the patient's death, but I just saw that and… I don't really want to go back at this point to rework the whole ending (mainly because I'm so depressed after hearing those four words, followed by another two leaving Cuddy's lips that I'd rather move on). This is my admission of something I knew I was portraying inaccurately but opted to go with anyway. Hope that works for you.)_


End file.
